


Marked on my Heart (with Invisible Ink)

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Clint and Natasha BFFs, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Nick Fury is a good friend, Soul marks AU, Soulmates, background Nick/Natasha - Freeform, cameo by Jasper Sitwell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In a world where everybody had a soulmate, Clint would forever be a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.  Everyone talked about the small mark on the inside of their right wrist like it was a universal constant.  Like eternal happiness and all that shit was destiny, and people always found their Match (or Matches).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Except, you know, for Clint.</em>
</p><p>Clint Barton had a lot of things he hated about his childhood, but the biggest one had to be that he was never taken to a Matchmaker as a kid, so he never got his mark.  Without a mark, even if he met his soulmate, he wouldn't know -- which sucked, because Clint wanted a very particular someone to be his soulmate.</p><p>But of course, anything involving Phil Coulson is not hopeless, and Clint might just get his happy ending after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked on my Heart (with Invisible Ink)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infiniteeight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/gifts).



> This one is for Fin, because it was your wonderful idea that you let me play with <3
> 
> A GIANT thank you to both Fiend and Ralkana, who patiently listened to my problems, read things over when I got anxious and helped whip this into shape. Thank you so very much <3
> 
> (That being said, any remaining mistakes are mine.)

Clint Barton jerked awake, the remnants of his nightmare clinging to the edges of his mind.  The sheets had twisted underneath him, tangling about his legs, and his heart was pounding in his chest.

Nights were always the worst.

Lifting a shaky hand, Clint ran it over his face as he drew in a shuddering breath.  The dark silence of his apartment only emphasized his loneliness.  In the daylight, it was easier to ignore the insidious voices in the back of his mind.  To pretend his dreams weren’t haunted by soft touches and a pair of warm, kind blue eyes.  In a world where everybody had a soulmate, Clint would forever be a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.  Everyone talked about the small mark on the inside of their right wrist like it was a universal constant.  Like eternal happiness and all that shit was destiny, and people always found their Match (or Matches).

Except, you know, for Clint.

There was no mark on Clint’s wrist to tell him that there was someone out there destined by Fate or the universe or whatever to love him.  It had been that way for Clint’s whole life, and it had taken Clint that same lifetime to learn how to live with the longing.  Since he was a kid, all he’d wanted was for someone to love him.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the prickle of tears, Clint ignored the cold, empty half of his bed, and sucked in another shaking breath.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, swallowed a sob, and buried his face in his hands.  The red numbers of his alarm clock showed he’d barely been asleep three hours.  His body was used to functioning on little sleep, but with the nightmares that had been plaguing him recently, Clint wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on like this.  He could keep papering over the cracks in his heart, but eventually, something was going to break.

Clint shifted his tense shoulders with a sigh.  He wouldn’t be getting back to sleep now, not with the loneliness stabbing through his chest like shards of glass.  He debated calling Natasha, but he couldn’t bring himself to dial the familiar number.  Natasha Romanoff was undeniably one of the best things to ever happen to Clint.  She would forever be the sister to his soul, but even with her past, Natasha had a Match.  Someone she loved, and who loved her back.  The fact that her soulmate was Nick Fury alternately warmed Clint’s heart and terrified the shit out of him.  Clint never wanted to disturb Natasha’s hard-won happiness with his own misery.  Not when this was something Natasha couldn’t solve.

Clint had already tried.  Back in the circus, just after Clint had turned fifteen, he’d scraped together enough cash for a Matchmaker, to see if they could bring out his mark.  Usually, that was something that happened well before puberty, but not for Clint.  He didn’t blame his mother - when his brother Barney had turned seven, she’d saved up enough money to take him to the Matchmaker.  Barney had come back grinning, proudly showing off the small black mark on his wrist when their father wasn’t watching.  Only, then his asshole of a father had driven to the store drunk, and killed both himself and his wife.  By the time Clint was of age for his mark, he was stuck in an orphanage where no one had enough money to spare it on a kid without a mark.  So, as always, Clint had borne the taunts, and as soon as he could, figured out how to fix things himself.

Except, his life never worked out that easy.  The Matchmaker’s wide eyes and sad smile were forever etched into Clint’s memory.  She’d explained as gently as she could, that whatever Clint’s mark had been, it was gone.  There was nothing left for her to bring out, and Clint had lost whatever chance he’d ever had.

It had taken Clint a long time to stop being angry over that.  To piece himself back together after the realization that maybe his father had been right, and no one would ever love him after all.  So he’d made a series of bad choices that probably would have ended with him dead, but meeting the Black Widow had changed that.  Changed _everything_.  Natasha had slid seamlessly into his life like she’d always been there.  For the first time since Barney had left, Clint had someone he could lean on.  She’d helped pick him up, and shown Clint that being himself was enough.  That family wasn’t dependent on having something written on his skin.

Yet, for all that Natasha had shown Clint he could be loved without a mark, it was SHIELD that had shown him he could belong.  By then, Clint had taken to wearing a thick leather cuff around his wrist, and he was good at dodging questions about his mark.  He was old enough to understand that sometimes people didn’t search for their Match, but one night stands just made the dull ache in his chest worse.  Instead, Clint had tried drowning out the loneliness with missions and training, but not even the ever-present crises that came with being a SHIELD agent were enough to distract him completely.  No matter how many times Clint pushed it down, the longing always rose up again, and it was slowly driving him crazy.  As much as Clint treasured the friendships he’d built at SHIELD, none of them quite filled the empty cracks in his heart.

He was just so _tired_.  The exhaustion seemed to be creeping out of his bones.

He’d eventually learned to live with the quiet emptiness of his apartment.  It was probably time he realized that he was better off not hoping, anyway.  He had a good life.  Sure, it would be nice to come home to someone, to share lazy Sunday mornings and quiet evenings in front of the TV, but Clint was a respected SHIELD agent.  He was lucky enough to have a best friend who was like the sister he’d never had, and a handler who was one of the best men Clint had ever met.  He didn’t need anything else.  He was fine.

If, in the middle of the night, he dreamed of Senior Agent Phil Coulson holding him tight and promising to love him forever, well, no one but Natasha had ever guessed.

It wasn’t quite as pathetic as Natasha insisted.  Clint might have been harbouring strong feelings towards Coulson for a long time, but he couldn’t exactly help it.  Coulson was intelligent, competent, and when he wasn’t hiding how dangerous he was, wore tailored suits that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.  He had a dry, sarcastic sense of humour he hid almost as well as his love of history.  Combine that with a pair of the bluest eyes Clint had ever seen, and Clint had to constantly remind himself why kissing Coulson was a _bad idea_.  Natasha had been trying to get Clint to say something for a while now, but Clint still wasn’t sure he had the guts to risk it.  In his life, the people who had seen his flaws and then _stayed_ were in the minority.

Also, there was about a zero percent chance that Clint was Coulson’s soulmate, which, you know, _sucked_.  Falling in love with Coulson wouldn’t change that.  The mark on Coulson’s wrist was a hot topic of SHIELD gossip, but Clint’s name never came up.  Clint could read between the lines enough to work out that he wasn’t Coulson’s special someone.  As much as Clint tried to convince himself that soulmates were bullshit and no guarantee of happiness anyway, deep down, he was still a hopeless romantic.  There was a corner of his heart that clung to the hope that there really was someone out there who could love Clint for who he was, and not leave.

Coulson never talked about the story behind his mark.  The gossip going around SHIELD said he was too married to his job to commit to someone else, but Clint had seen how sad Coulson sometimes looked when he thought no one was watching.  It was selfish and horrible, but Clint was almost glad Coulson didn’t have a Match.  This way, he could keep Coulson’s friendship and respect, and be content.  Phil wouldn’t suddenly walk away if Clint ever confessed his feelings went deeper than they should.  Yet, no matter how gentle Coulson was about it, it would still _hurt_ when Coulson told Clint that he could never love Clint the way Clint loved him.  Clint had had enough heartbreak from a lifetime, thanks.

Shaking off his churning thoughts, Clint cursed.  Indulging in self-pity wasn’t going to change anything, and it certainly wasn’t going to help him sleep.  Clint climbed silently to his feet and headed towards his small kitchen.  Figuring the darkness suited his mood, he didn’t bother turning on the light.  Instead, he walked straight for the coffee machine to turn it on, before pulling a mug out of the cupboard just to his left.  Clint leaned back against the kitchen counter and waited for the coffee to brew.  Slowly, the small shivers running through his body began to fade.  He poured himself a large mug, letting the warmth of the coffee chase away the remaining chill from his dreams of Phil.  His eyes were gritty with exhaustion, but there was only one thing that would help soothe his mind.

Clint pulled on a pair of running shoes, threw a hooded sweatshirt over the faded t-shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in, and grabbed his iPod.  Then he slipped out of his apartment into the still emptiness that always came before dawn.  After a quick series of stretches, Clint found his favourite playlist and started jogging towards one of the longer running tracks near the East River.  He hoped the rock music would banish the last of his disquiet, so he could be the cold, hard specialist SHIELD needed him to be.  The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the sidewalk was familiar, and the demanding pace gave Clint a sense of freedom that usually only came with the adrenaline high of mission.  Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Clint could drown out the voice asking him what life was supposed to be like when he wasn’t just going through the motions.

~*~

Phil shivered a little in the cold morning air.  The sky was beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn, and Phil could see it was the kind of clear that usually came after heavy rain.  Leaning against the railing, Phil let his eyes drift over the river and waited patiently for his fellow runner to finish.  It wasn’t the first time Phil had noticed the figure at the edge of his vision during his morning run.  Even if Phil’s instincts hadn’t designated the presence as _familiar_ and _safe_ , he would have recognized that fluid, feline grace anywhere.  It was comforting to have Clint Barton at his back, just like always.

Phil wasn’t entirely sure how, but he and Clint had started sharing the same running track.  At first, Clint was simply there some mornings, pounding the track at a brutal pace, and other mornings he wasn’t.  There didn’t seem to be a pattern to it.  Phil had verified the status of current operations, and whether Phil saw Clint running didn’t seem to be dependent on SHIELD missions.  Not even on the ones where Phil wasn’t his handler.  He’d checked.  The unpredictability was probably due to a not-unjustified paranoia.  A man like Clint was used to being a target, of having people looking for him with bad intentions, and varying something as simple as his jogging route made sense.  Phil wasn’t really surprised when he started worrying, either.  Particularly when he noticed Clint appearing more and more constantly until there stopped being mornings when he wasn’t there.  Phil didn’t know what it was that Clint was running from every morning, but he was definitely running from _something_.

Nothing at SHIELD seemed different.  Around the offices, Clint was his usual disruptive, flirtatious self.  He and Natasha still trained and ate meals together, as inseparable out of the field as they were in it.  Clint hadn’t been spending any longer on the range than normal, and he’d been playing pranks on the junior agents as always.  If Phil hadn’t seen him running every morning until his legs threatened to give out, it would have been easy to believe Clint was as happy as he appeared.

And that worried Phil more than he wanted to admit.

His feelings towards Clint had always been more than just professional, and they had only deepened over the years he and Clint had worked together.  The first time they’d met, Phil had noticed how gorgeous Clint was.  Broad-shouldered and always flashing a cocky smirk, Clint had the kind of muscle that only came from hard, disciplined training.  His arms alone were incredible.  Combined with his amazing, vivid eyes, it was no wonder that he’d sent Phil’s world tilting.  Phil was convinced a higher power somewhere was having a good laugh at his expense, because at his age, Phil should have been beyond a crush.  Risking any professional relationship that he and Clint might have for the sake of romantic feelings was a phenomenally bad idea.  Particularly since Clint wasn’t looking for the Match to his mark - Clint kept it hidden with a large leather cuff, and always deflected when someone asked.  Phil didn’t begrudge him that - Clint was hardly the only SHIELD agent who wasn’t searching for a soulmate.  Their work was dangerous, and Phil himself had decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to draw someone into that life who wouldn’t be able to deal with it.  Of course, that was before Phil had fallen in love with his asset.  Now, he continually found himself awake before dawn so that he could watch Clint as they both attempted to outrun the demons that haunted them.

Sometimes, Phil almost reached out.  Moments where a hot, electric tension crackled between them, and Phil could almost convince himself his feelings weren’t one sided.  The confession of what was permanently inscribed on Phil’s heart bubbled up in his throat, but he couldn’t quite make himself utter the words out loud.  Clint had seen Phil’s mark, and if it had matched Clint’s, Clint _would_ have said something.  Clint was not the kind of man who would keep that a secret - he was too honest and caring with his friends.

This morning, Clint ran even longer than he usually did.  Phil was seriously craving his second coffee when Clint finally sagged to a stop, hands braced against the nearby railing.  Phil hesitated for a moment, just long enough to watch Clint suck in those deep breaths that stopped his legs from shaking.

“Hey, Coulson,” Clint said, his voice rough and loud in the early morning air.  The sound hit Phil somewhere low in his stomach and sent a shiver down his spine.  “Is something up?”

As Clint began to stretch out his muscles, Phil stepped forward so he didn’t have to raise his voice.  This close, Phil caught his first proper glimpse of Clint in a few days, and noticed he was looking a little rough around the edges.  Clint’s shoulders were hunched, and there were dark circles under his eyes and the shadow of a few days’ worth of stubble across his strong jaw.  His sharp eyes were as intense as ever as he stared at Phil.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Phil replied softly.

Clint’s gaze darted away from Phil and then back again.  “I’m fine,” he said.

Phil arched an eyebrow, wondering if Clint really expected Phil would let him get away with that lie.  Clint rolled his eyes, looking more like his normal self.  “Okay, so I’ve been better,” he admitted.

Phil shook his head with a wry smile, completely captivated by the complex man in front of him.  It was obvious something was driving Clint from bed early in the morning, but whatever it was didn’t stop the spark of life in his eyes.  Phil was both impressed and envious of that.  Clint’s life had never been easy, and he’d been betrayed and abandoned by almost everyone he’d ever cared about, yet Clint was still fighting for something better.

For a moment, Clint stared at him with a searching look, and Phil kept his expression as open as he could.  Finally, Clint’s gaze softened slightly, leaving Phil no closer to understanding what the archer had been searching for.  “Do you want to go get a coffee?” Clint asked.

“Sure,” Phil replied easily.  “Who doesn’t need caffeine at the asscrack of dawn?”

Clint’s mouth quirked up into a tiny hint of a smile, but for once, Phil wasn’t treated to a sarcastic reply.  Suppressing another jolt of worry, Phil simply fell into step beside Clint as they left the track.  Clint’s presence beside Phil was as steady and reassuring as it was when Clint watched over him on missions.  Clint led them to a small shop on the edge of the park, before they wandered down past the river again.  The track was busier now, the sky lightening as the sun rose higher, but Clint seemed content to keep his pace unhurried.  Finally, he paused, and settled in a quiet spot against the rail.  Phil ignored the way his stomach clenched at the pensive look on Clint’s face as he stared out over the river and the city beyond.

“So,” Phil said, settling close enough that Clint’s arm was pressed against his, warm and solid.  “Want to talk about it?”

Clint blew out a breath.  “That’s a loaded question,” he replied.

Immediately tensing, Phil began running through and discarding various situations.  “Hey, no, nothing like that,” Clint added softly, obviously catching some of it on Phil’s face.  “It’s not… you don’t need to launch a mission, or anything.”

“Okay,” Phil replied, forcing himself to relax again.

Clint smiled, but it was bittersweet.  “Can I tell you something, Coulson?” he asked.

“Of course,” Phil said immediately.

Clint’s smile warmed for a second before it fell from his face.  “Actually, it’s probably better if I show you.”  He held out his coffee.  “Sorry, could you?”

“Sure,” Phil replied.  Junking his own cup in a nearby trash can, he took Clint’s, and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t madly thumping in his chest.  As Clint’s fingers strayed to the cuff buckled on his right wrist, a million thoughts started racing around Phil’s brain.  He was caught between his ever-present hope, and the stab of pain that Clint was going to ask for help finding his Match.  For a second, Phil wondered if it wasn’t past time for him to come clean with how he felt, and put himself out of his misery.

Not once in any of his distraction had it occurred to him that Clint wouldn’t have a mark at all.

Phil was running a finger over the bare, pale skin before he could stop himself.  “Sorry,” he said, yanking his hand back.

“It’s okay,” Clint replied quietly.

Blinking, Phil glanced up, and finally understood the deep sadness he’d sometimes caught in Clint’s eyes.  “How?” he asked, ruthlessly stomping on the voice that was whispering that Clint could still be his Match.

Clint shrugged, his attempt at his usual smirk more of a grimace.  “I was six when my parents died.  Barney already had his mark, and I guess the social workers figured the orphanage would take care of mine.”

“But they didn’t,” Phil said flatly, anger clenching his stomach.

“The orphanage barely had enough money to clothe and feed us, let alone pay for a Matchmaker,” Clint told him, his words laced with bitterness.  “No one at the circus did either, and by the time I had learned to pickpocket well enough to get that kind of money, I was too old.”

Phil frowned, and had to bite back the urge to pull Clint into his arms.  To reassure him that there were still people who loved him, with or without a mark.

“It’s okay, Coulson,” Clint said, bumping Phil’s shoulder with his as he re-buckled his cuff.  “I have Tash, and I have you and SHIELD.  I’m okay.  I just… I guess, I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

It wasn’t okay.  Phil could read that clearly in Clint’s hunched shoulders, and the way his fingers were flexing.  “Clint…” he said softly.  “I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to, but if there was a way…”

“There isn’t,” Clint cut him off.  “The Matchmaker I went to said my mark was lost.”

“But if there was a way?” Phil pressed, not sure what he was aiming for, other than to remove the sadness in Clint’s eyes.

Clint searched his gaze for a second.  “Yeah,” he replied shakily.  “If you can find something… yeah.  That would be… good.”

Phil nodded once.  “Okay then.”

~*~

Clint sucked in a deep breath as he stared down at his bare right wrist, but it did little to soothe the raging turmoil in his stomach.  His fingers traced absent patterns over the pale skin.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from imagining what his mark might look like.  As a kid, he’d daydreamed about it, because even back then, Clint had never met someone without one.  Sometimes, those marks were faded and came with hollowed, grief-filled eyes, but they were always there.  For years, Clint hadn’t let himself imagine the possibility that he might have one too, but now… now he might have a chance after all.

If anyone could find a way, it would be Phil Coulson.

Clint was trying not to cling to that traitorous hope, because it was going to hurt so much if Coulson couldn’t do anything.

Hearing a noise, Clint glanced up as Natasha curled herself into the space beside him on the window seat.  There wasn’t much room, so Clint shifted his arm, grateful for Natasha’s quiet presence.  “So, I told Coulson,” he admitted with a wry twist of his lips.

Natasha blinked at him in surprise.  “You actually told Coulson you’re in love with him?” she said.

Clint rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite meet Natasha’s knowing gaze.  “No, I mean, I told him I don’t have a mark,” he replied.

“And what did Coulson say?”

“He asked me if I wanted him to try and find a way to bring out my mark,” Clint whispered, still not sure he could bring himself to believe it.

Natasha’s small hand curled around his.  “Are you more scared that he won’t find a way… or that he will?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Clint sucked in a shaky breath.  “I just…” he began, his voice hoarse.  Behind his eyelids, tears threatened to slip free.  “What if I get a mark, but it’s not a Match to his, Tash?  I’m not sure I could survive that.”

“Yes, you can,” Natasha replied fiercely, before her lips brushed a gentle kiss at his temple.  Shifting closer, he dropped his head onto Natasha’s shoulder, and she ran a soothing hand down his back.  “You can survive it, Clint.  You’re strong and stubborn, and you’ll get through this just like you’ve gotten through everything else.”  Clint breathed in her familiar scent of vanilla and cordite until the trembling eased.  “Just, don’t lose hope yet, okay?  Promise me.”

“I promise,” Clint whispered.

~*~

Phil sighed.  To say that Clint’s confession had haunted him after their early morning conversation would be overstating it, but only slightly.  The words had kept Phil up all night, his mind spinning off in a thousand different directions.  Clint deserved to have a shot at happiness, and a chance to find out who his soulmate really was, but Phil wasn’t sure _how_ to help.  SHIELD probably had information somewhere, but that would prompt questions, and Phil wasn’t willing to give those answers.  Finally, he gave in and called Pepper Potts.  If anyone could help him, it would be Pepper.  

Phil squashed down his own selfish thoughts.  No matter what he longed for his own mark to mean, there was no reason that Clint’s mark would match his.  After all their years together at SHIELD, Clint had never once given Phil any indication that he felt anything for Phil beyond friendship, and Phil had resigned himself to be content with that.  His stubborn heart had no bearing on the situation at all.

Sighing again, Phil forced himself to stop moping.  When Pepper had agreed to meet him, Phil hadn’t hesitated.  It was probably just as well he’d taken the entire day off work, just in case he’d needed the time, because he was finding it hard to be Agent Coulson right now.    Glancing around the crowded cafe, Phil sipped his coffee.  His world was hardly ending, and if things _did_ go as badly as he feared, he had a bottle of vodka stashed behind the box of cornflakes in his cupboard.  Not that Phil had any right to be upset.  Who Clint chose to spend his life with was entirely up to Clint.

Phil frowned at himself, letting his gaze travel over the other customers in an attempt to distract himself from his thoughts.  Outside, it had just started raining, and people were rushing past the window as they headed for shelter.  It reminded Phil of the last rainstorm he’d been in - he and Clint had been headed out for pizza when a sudden downpour had landed on their heads.  Laughing, they’d chased each other through the rain and gotten soaked to the skin.  They’d ended up back at Clint’s small apartment, shivering with cold as they stripped out of their wet clothes.  Phil had borrowed an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from Clint and, coming out of the bathroom, he’d been greeted by the sight of Clint without a shirt on.  It was hardly the first time that had happened, but all the same, Phil had stopped dead in his tracks.  His eyes had roamed the exposed skin for a long moment, and even now, Phil could still recall almost every detail like it had been lasered onto his brain.  Clint, shirtless and damp, was enough to tempt anyone even halfway interested in men.

But Phil’s brain wasn’t allowed to go there.  Those mental images were off limits.

“Phil,” Pepper Potts greeted warmly, sliding into the seat opposite Phil and effectively scattering his morose thoughts.  “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“It’s fine,” Phil replied.  “Thank you for meeting me.”

“You know I’ll always find time for you, Phil,” Pepper said, her tone faintly admonishing.  Her lovely blue eyes radiated understanding as she studied him.  “Have you finally tazed Tony and locked him in a closet somewhere?”

Phil let a wry smile curve his lips for a moment, but couldn’t bring himself to make his usual snappy reply.  Pepper reached out to cover Phil’s hand with her smaller one.  “Hey,” she said.  “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” Phil replied.  “I…” He trailed off, words failing him.

“Is it about Clint?” Pepper asked, her eyes soft as she watched him.

Phil glanced back down at his coffee cup.  “It’s stupid and selfish,” he told her, before looking back up with a smile that was only half-forced.  “I’ll be fine.”

Pepper gave him an amused smile.  “So it _is_ about Clint, then?” she replied mildly, taking a sip of her own large coffee.  At Phil’s questioning look, Pepper shrugged.  “I know you well enough to see when you’re unsettled.  Usually the only person with the power to do that is Clint Barton.”

Phil sighed.  “Clint has always been special,” he agreed.

Pepper smiled.  “So,” she said.  “What do you need?”

Phil took a deep breath.  It was now or never.  “What do you know about missing soul marks?” he asked.

Her eyes widening, Pepper’s gaze immediately shot to Phil’s right wrist.  He turned it slightly so Pepper could reassure herself that Phil wasn’t talking about himself.  “Missing _how_?” Pepper replied, glancing up again.

Taking a sip of coffee, Phil debated how much to tell her.  He trusted Pepper with the details, or he wouldn’t have called her in the first place - but Clint had always been private about his past.  “Missing, as in not brought out in childhood,” he said.  The Matchmaker Clint had visited might have said the mark was lost, but Phil wasn’t believing anything until he had a second opinion at least.

“Oh, that’s horrible.  Why would…” Pepper said, her hand coming up to press against her chest.  Then she took a deep breath, and nodded.  “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

A rush of relief flooded Phil.  “Thank you,” he said.

“Of course,” Pepper replied.  She pulled out her Starkphone and tapped a few buttons.  “I have a list of experts who deal with magic after what happened with Tony… well, you know.”  She gave him a tight smile.  Neither she nor Stark liked talking about Afghanistan.  “I’ll try to see if anyone can help with a missing mark.”

Phil decided that no matter the outcome, he was going to send Pepper the largest box of her favourite chocolates that he could find.  As if sensing his thoughts, Pepper looked up.  “I hope Clint appreciates what you’re doing for him,” she said quietly.

Choking a little on his sip of coffee, Phil wondered why he was so surprised Pepper had figured it out.  “Clint deserves to be happy.”

“Oh, Phil,” Pepper murmured.  “You want him to be your Match, don’t you?”

Phil rubbed a hand over his face, and sighed heavily.  He could attest to Clint’s unique ability to get under his skin.  “More than I ever realized.”

Pepper gave him a sad smile.  “As soon as I find out anything, I’ll let you know,” she said.  “And, Phil?  For your sake, I really hope this works out the way you want.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.  “Me too.”

~*~

Dropping soundlessly out of the vents, Clint landed in a crouch just inside one of SHIELD’s smaller breakrooms.  On the couch beside him, Natasha arched an eyebrow, but didn’t see fit to actually look up from the files she was reading.  She hadn’t even twitched at Clint’s entrance, because Natasha was a badass - and she was also used to Clint’s strange habits.  “If you think skulking in the vents is going to help your team win this afternoon, you’re wrong,” she told him.

Straightening, Clint shook his head, mostly ignoring Natasha’s reference to the two teams of junior agents they were supposed to be training.  “Something’s up,”  he said with a frown.

Natasha glanced at him, immediately alert.  “What is it?” she asked.

“Coulson’s not in his office,” Clint told her.

Huffing, Natasha rolled her eyes and relaxed.  “Is that all?” she said.

“He’s _supposed_ to be in his office, Tash,” Clint insisted.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “You’re just upset because he missed one of your coffee non-dates,” she replied.

Clint scowled.  “They’re not… that’s not… never mind.  The point is that Coulson doesn’t have any meetings or missions in his schedule.  No one’s seen him, and I waited long enough that he didn’t just go for coffee without me.”

Arching her eyebrow, Natasha gave him a pointed look.  “Has Coulson figured out how much of a creeper you are, yet?”

“What if this is something to do with what I told him about my mark?” Clint asked quietly.

Natasha rolled her eyes again.  “Have you tried asking Jasper where he is?” she suggested.

Clint blinked.  “And that’s why you’re the brains of this operation, Tash,” he said.

“Damn straight!” Natasha called after him as Clint pivoted on his heel and headed for Jasper Sitwell’s office.

Deep in his gut, Clint’s instincts were screaming that this had something to do with his missing mark.  Coulson would never stop trying to fix Clint’s problems, and soulmates or not, Clint wasn’t about to stop worrying when Coulson mysteriously disappeared, either.

Knocking on Jasper’s office door, Clint barely paused before walking in, blinking when he found Jasper packing up his stuff.  “Are you going somewhere?” Clint said, his voice coming out a little more demanding than he’d intended.

Jasper sent him a pointed look.  “You get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Hawk?” he asked.

Clint frowned and waved a hand at Jasper’s office.  There was a distinct lack of messy piles of tablets, flash drives and the odd CD or photo everywhere like normal.  Jasper rolled his eyes and locked the few paper files he had in his safe.  “Well?” Clint said.

“Um… yes?” Jasper replied, before fixing Clint with another look.  “I’ve got a mission to Johannesburg.  You know, the one Maria is so stressed about that she’s making junior agents flee from her path?”

“Oh,” Clint said, a bad feeling beginning to curl through his stomach.  “Is Coulson on that mission too?”

Jasper snorted and rolled his eyes.  “You don’t read your emails, do you?” he said, herding Clint towards the door and grabbing his coat.  “Coulson took a personal day.”

Clint shot Jasper a sidelong look.  “A personal day?” he echoed.  Coulson didn’t take personal days, not even when he was sick with the same flu that had taken Blake out for two weeks.

“That’s what he said,” Jasper replied, his lips twisting in a way that told Clint he wouldn’t hear any details.  “Seriously, Barton.  He just had something he wanted to do today.  He’ll be back in his office bitching about your paperwork again bright and early tomorrow morning.”  Jasper waited a beat before giving Clint a pointed stare.  “Can I go now?”

“Oh, sorry,” Clint replied, moving out of Jasper’s way.

In a daze, Clint headed back to the break room, and Natasha.  She was still curled up on the couch going over her files, but at his entrance, she glanced up and frowned.  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

Clint let out a breath.  “Coulson has taken a personal day,” he blurted.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “So go see him after we finish training the junior agents,” she replied.

“He took a personal day, Tash,” Clint said.  “What if he doesn’t want to be disturbed?”

Clint didn’t think he deserved Natasha’s ‘are you purposefully being stupid’ look, but she gave it to him anyway.  “Take a pizza,” she suggested.  “You’re going to be staking out his apartment, anyway.  You might as well do it from the inside.”

Natasha maybe had a point.  “Yeah,” Clint said.  “Okay.”

~*~

Phil stared down at the simple wooden box in his hand.  Smaller than his palm, the box looked deceptively innocuous for what it contained.  Hesitant to open it, Phil ran his fingers over the lid, and tried to wrap his head around the idea that the small object inside had the potential to change Clint’s life.  True to Pepper’s word, she’d had the box delivered about eight hours after their conversation in the coffee shop.  Phil was grateful for her amazing efficiency.  She’d relayed the instructions that went with the small magical charm, and the Matchmaker’s words were still ringing in Phil’s ears.  All Clint had to do was hold the charm in his hand, and his mark would eventually appear.  No one seemed entirely sure when it would happen, but they were sure it would.

Huffing out a sigh, Phil told himself to stop being ridiculous and just give the charm to Clint.  He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch, deciding to head over to Clint’s apartment.  A second later, the knock at his front door stopped him in his tracks.  Even without the sixth sense he’d developed when it came to Clint, Phil had heard that knock a thousand times.  There was no reason for Phil to suddenly be so nervous, but that didn’t stop the way his heart was pounding in his chest.  Clint was the one whose mark would be affected, not him.  Yet, as always, Phil’s feelings towards his asset refused to follow a logical path.

Phil wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans, set down his jacket, and took a deep breath.  Sparing a second to confirm who it was, just in case, Phil opened the door before Clint could disappear.  “Hi,” he greeted softly.

“Hey, Coulson,” Clint replied, aiming for casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his own nerves.

Swallowing a little, Phil waved him inside.  Clint looked _good_.  He wore nice dark jeans that were tight enough to show off his strong legs, and a slightly rumpled button-up shirt under his leather jacket.  Phil was almost always distracted by Clint, but dressed like he was going on a date, Clint had the power to render Phil speechless.

Clint walked in with an uneasy smile, hovering halfway between the living room and the kitchen.  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I, sir?” he asked.

Phil closed the door, and tried to subtly clear his throat.  “I thought I told you to call me Phil when we’re off the clock?” he replied.  “And no, Clint, you’re not interrupting anything.”

Clint’s smile relaxed.

“Do you want something to drink?” Phil offered.

“Uh, no.  Thanks.  I’m good,” Clint replied.  “Tash said I should have turned up with pizza.”

Phil smiled.  “Well, pizza is hard to say no to,” he agreed, “but you don’t need an excuse to visit, Clint.  You’re always welcome.”

Ducking his head, Clint cleared his throat and looked around the room with obvious curiosity.  Phil wasn’t entirely sure why - his apartment hadn’t changed since Clint had last been there.  The silence dragged out, and Phil grasped around for something to say.  There was tension in the air that was making things awkward, but Phil wasn’t sure how to dispel it.  Finally, Phil sighed, and just decided to be straightforward.  “Clint,” he said seriously.  “There’s… I have something for you.”

Clint blinked and fixed a smirk on his face.  “Do you?” he said.  “Does it explode?”

“No,” Phil replied quietly.  “It’s about what we talked about the other day.  Do you… Clint, do you still want to bring out your mark?”

Clint went absolutely still, his eyes wide in his pale face.  “You… you found a way?” he asked, his voice raw and hoarse in a way Phil had never heard before.  In his chest, his heart clenched.

“Yes,” Phil told him.  He could explain the details later, but for now, Phil simply held out the small wooden box towards Clint.

Clint’s gaze locked onto it like the box was an archery target, but he seemed reluctant to get any closer.  Phil wasn’t sure what to do.  He had no idea how it felt to spend his whole life believing something was impossible, only to be given the chance after all.  “You don’t have to take it now, Clint.  I can keep it until you’re ready, no matter how long that takes.  I just wanted you to know that you have a choice now,” Phil told him softly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint swore, squeezing his eyes shut.

The stark pain on Clint’s face, and the tense way he was holding himself so still, was like a punch to the gut, and Phil couldn’t stand it.  He cared about Clint - _loved_ Clint - and watching Clint like this was breaking Phil’s heart.  Before he’d consciously decided, Phil was setting the box down and stepping forward to drag Clint into his arms.  With a choked sob, Clint sagged into the hug and buried his face in Phil’s shoulder.  Phil had to shut his own eyes at the dampness seeping into his sweater.  Clint was always so strong, facing down all life’s knocks with a challenging smirk, and right now he was crying silently against Phil’s shoulder.  Phil felt like someone had reached inside him and yanked out his guts.  “Clint,” he whispered, his own voice hoarse and shaking.

Clint briefly clenched his hands in the back of Phil’s sweater before he started to pull back.  “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered quietly, averting his eyes.

“ _No_ ,” Phil said fiercely, reaching up to catch Clint’s face between his hands.  Gently, he wiped away one of Clint’s tears with his thumb.  “You do not need to apologize for _anything_ , Clint.  Not about this.  Not to me.”

For a second, Clint’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. Then he sucked in a shuddering breath, and blinked.  “Okay,” he replied.  “Okay.”  He glanced over at where Phil had shoved the small box.  “Guess I should get things over with, huh?”

Phil let his hands drop.  He frowned faintly at Clint’s words, because they weren’t the words of a man looking forward to finding his Match.  “You don’t have to do this, Clint.  Not if you don’t want to,” Phil told him.  “There is _nothing_ wrong with you the way you are.”

His gaze flicking everywhere but at Phil, Clint let out a rough chuckle.  There was nothing amused or warm in the sound, and that only made Phil’s worry reach up to squeeze his heart.  “That’s not the problem, Coulson,” he said, his tone edging towards bitter.  “Can we just do this?”

“Of course,” Phil said.  Everything probably felt overwhelming to Clint right now.  Phil shouldn’t push him towards explanations he wasn’t ready to give, no matter how worried or confused Phil was.

“So how is this going to work, anyway?” Clint asked, dropping down onto the couch as he picked up the box, and surreptitiously wiping the rest of the tears from his cheeks.

“I didn’t exactly follow the magical explanation, but according to Pepper, all you need to do is hold it,” Phil said softly.  He walked around the couch to sit carefully next to Clint.

Clint let out a shaking breath.  “But it will work?”

“Yes, Clint.  It will,” Phil reassured him softly.  “Although the Matchmaker warns she’s not sure how long it will take.  The mark might show up immediately, or it might take time.”

Clint snorted.  “Time I can deal with,” he said.  “All I’ve ever had is time.”

“That’s not true,” Phil replied, laying his hand over Clint’s.  “You have Natasha, and you have SHIELD, and you have me, Clint.  Mark or no mark, that won’t change.”

Glancing up, Phil was suddenly trapped by Clint’s bright, exposed gaze.  His eyes were the grey-blue of the ocean before a storm, and all Clint’s defenses were gone, leaving him stripped bare.  Phil’s breath caught in his lungs at all the pain and longing in that expression, and he had to clench his jaw against the confession that threatened to spill out of his throat.

“Wish me luck,” Clint whispered, and his nimble fingers flipped open the box.

Nestled on the dark red velvet inside was a tiny silver charm.  About half the size of Phil’s little finger, the entwined metal almost resembled a bird in flight.  Someone had tied it to a small strip of leather, like a pendant.  Falteringly, Clint ran his finger over the metal before gasping and snatching his hand back.

“Clint?” Phil said, resisting the urge to reach out.  “Are you all right?”

Clint ignored him, instead shrugging out of his jacket, and tossing it over the back of the couch behind him.  Then, he reached out to unbuckle the ever-present cuff around his wrist.  He tossed it down onto the coffee table and dug the charm out of the box.  Sitting in the palm of Clint’s hand, the metal began to shine faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat for about a minute before it faded again.  Phil’s heart stuttered in his chest when the skin of Clint’s right wrist started to glow with that same light.  Barely able to breathe, Phil dug his hands into the cushions of his couch as Clint’s mark began to appear.  At first, the mark was barely a shadow on his pale skin, but slowly the colour darkened and solidified, becoming a recognizable shape.  Someone uttered an agonized sound, but Phil couldn’t tear his eyes away long enough to find out which one of them it was.  Etched onto Clint’s skin were two small hearts, linked together to form an infinity sign.  Phil’s breath froze in his lungs, and his stomach clenched, because the mark on Clint’s wrist was achingly, terrifyingly familiar.

It was _his_.

His fingers stretched out towards Clint’s mark as the glow faded again, but he was sitting just a little too far away.  Blinking back to himself, Phil drew his hand back, reminding himself that just because Clint’s mark matched his, that didn’t mean he had a right to _touch_.

Clint grabbed his hand before Phil could shift too far away, the movement somehow ending with Clint much closer.  Phil raised his eyes to Clint’s, only to find Clint staring back.  Clint’s eyes were intent, and so full of hope.  Phil couldn’t help the smothered sob that caught in his throat.  “Well,” Phil said roughly, finally finding his voice.  “This is…”  Unexpected.  Impossible.  More than Phil had ever dared dream.  “Unanticipated?”

His gaze almost sharp enough to cut, Clint studied Phil’s face for a long moment.  Phil’s heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing was fast and shallow, like he’d run a mile under gunfire, or he was about to panic.  When Clint finally looked down and to the side, the loss felt like the absence of a physical touch.  “It really wasn’t a possibility for you, huh?" he said, the bitterness back in his voice.

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Phil was at a loss about where to start.

There were several moments that had defined the path of Phil’s life.  Points where everything could - and _had_  - changed irrevocably.  His first boyfriend.  Joining the Army.  Being selected for the Rangers.  Meeting Nick.  But every instinct Phil possessed was screaming that this moment had the potential to be the most life changing of all - and that Phil had better choose his next words very fucking carefully.

Phil let out a steadying breath, gathering his courage.  “Clint,” he said, trying to ignore the way Clint shrank into himself, as if bracing for a blow.  “I think there are a few things we need to address.  First, if you think there is anyone else on this planet that I would want as a Match aside from _you_ , you’re fucking nuts.”

Snapping up to Phil’s, Clint’s eyes were as wide and raw as they’d been when Phil had told him about the charm.  Phil gave him a pointed look in reply, stopping Clint before he could start listing his perceived flaws.  “Second,” Phil continued, gentling his tone, “now might not be the best time to talk about this.  Two hours ago, you didn’t even know you had a mark, let alone that it matches mine.  You need time to deal with that before anyone makes any decisions.”

Clint let out a shuddering breath, his eyes fixed on his lap and the new mark etched into his skin.  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly.

If Clint needed to find his own space, Phil wouldn’t stop him, but if he didn’t, there was no way in hell Phil was letting him leave like this.  Reaching out, Phil very deliberately put his hand over Clint’s new mark.  “Clint,” he said.  “You can stay here as long as you want.  I always want you to stay.  But if you need to leave, or to call Natasha, I can call you a cab, or lend you a phone.”

This time, Clint’s shivering sob reverberated all the way up Phil’s arm from where they were still touching.  When Clint finally glanced up, his vivid eyes were bright with tears again.  “Phil,” he whispered helplessly.

“Come here,” Phil replied, gently tugging Clint forward into a hug.

Clint’s weight was warm and solid against Phil’s chest, and Phil soothingly stroked a palm up and down Clint’s back as the younger man shook in his arms.  There were no tears this time, but even so, Phil’s heart ached.  Clint had buried his face in Phil’s shoulder, his hands fisted into Phil’s sweater, and Phil pulled him closer.  For a long moment, Phil debated with himself whether he should say anything more.  Clint was vulnerable right now, but Phil wasn’t sure he was willing to let Clint keep going without understanding how much Phil cared.  Even if Clint never made the Match official, or pursued it any further, Phil loved him and would continue to love him.  Clint deserved to know that.

“You know,” Phil began, his lips brushing Clint’s hair, “I only ever let myself dream late at night.  That you were my Match.  Usually after a mission when you’d done something stupidly, recklessly brave.”  Even with the knowledge of how _important_ it was for Clint to understand, Phil still struggled to get the words out around the lump in his throat.  “Or after I saw you smiling at Natasha, or flirting with one of the new junior agents.  I probably shouldn’t admit it, but I get jealous sometimes.  I used to wish you’d flirt with me like that.”

Clint stirred restlessly in Phil’s arms, still shaking with fine tremors.  The one hand Phil could see was gripping Phil’s sweater so hard, Clint’s knuckles were white.  “It’s okay,” Phil continued when Clint shifted as if to pull back.  “I’m not expecting you to say anything.  I just wanted you to know that no matter what happens, my feelings for you aren’t new.”

“ _Phil_ ,” Clint choked out, sucking in a ragged breath.

“I’ve got you,” Phil said.  “I’ve got you, Clint.”

They stayed like that for a long time, nestled together on the couch, with Phil carefully stroking a hand up and down Clint’s back.  Eventually, Phil’s muscles began to protest at the position, and he shifted carefully, trying not to dislodge Clint.  As Clint stirred, his eyelashes brushed against Phil’s cheek, and Phil shivered.

“Can I stay here tonight?”  Clint whispered, his breath tickling Phil’s skin.  “I mean, not to do anything… I just… I don’t want to wake up alone again.”

Phil squeezed his eyes shut against his own prickle of tears.  “ _Of course_ you can stay.”

“Thanks,” Clint replied, curling closer.

~*~

Clint slowly drifted awake, warm and comfortable, and so very not alone.  There was a solid line of heat pressed against his back, and the hairy leg tangled with his definitely wasn’t Natasha’s.  Reluctant to open his eyes, he lay there for a while, savouring the contentment of waking up beside the man he loved.  Phil still hadn’t said where they went from here, or how much he was willing to give Clint, but the knowledge that he was _wanted_ sat reassuringly steady in the back of Clint’s mind.  He had a mark.  He had a _Match_.  Clint’s asshole of a father had been wrong after all.

Breathing out slowly, Clint smiled and opened his eyes.  Phil’s bedroom hadn’t been what Clint had been expecting, either last night or this morning.  Although, it wasn’t that strange after the rest of Phil’s tiny and surprisingly messy apartment.  There were a few vintage posters on the walls, but only one of them featured Captain America, because Phil wasn’t actually as big a dork about Steve Rogers as everyone thought.  Small knickknacks and photos covered everything else, Clint own face staring down at him next to Natasha’s from the dresser.  Nick’s grinning face was everywhere, sometimes with Maria glaring at him, or with Jasper and his pancakes.  It was nice.  A proper home.

Unable to resist any longer, Clint carefully rolled over.  Phil sighed at the movement but didn’t wake.  He was a surprisingly heavy sleeper when he felt safe.  Because Clint could, he took a few minutes to just look at Phil.  Phil’s jaw and cheeks were rough with stubble that glinted silver in patches, and his face was relaxed.  It wasn’t boyish, exactly, but Phil looked softer and somewhat adorable with his face mashed into the pillow.  The lines around his eyes were still there, and there were growing frown lines on his forehead that Clint itched to smooth away.

“I can feel you watching me, you know,” Phil mumbled without opening his eyes.

Clint’s smile widened across his face.  “I’d expect nothing else from the Great Agent Coulson,” he replied softly.

Phil huffed and squinted open his eyes.  “Are you okay?” he asked.

Clint had to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.  “I’m more than okay,” he said finally, unable to put the rising, tangled pressure in his chest into words.  Simply waking up next to Phil, seeing the concern in those blue eyes, hearing his voice still scratchy with sleep…  It was overwhelmingly perfect.

Phil smiled, as if he could hear what Clint wasn’t saying.  Since Clint wasn’t doing much to keep his emotions off his face, Phil probably could.

Clint was loath to move from their warm cocoon, but his bladder was beginning to scream at him.  Besides, now that Phil was half awake, he’d be on a quest for coffee.  “Sorry, I…   Bathroom,” Clint muttered, feeling ten kinds of awkward.

Phil hummed in reply, his eyes already slipping shut again.

After taking care of business and splashing a little water on his face, Clint debated whether to search the cupboards for a spare toothbrush.  Digging around in Phil’s bathroom uninvited felt like an invasion of privacy.  And it was probably just wishful thinking that he’d need a toothbrush for any other reason than to make his teeth less fuzzy.  Hell, Phil might be about to get up and leave for work.  It was a Friday, right?

On his wrist, his new mark glared back at him.

Just as Clint was about to stick his head out the door and ask Phil about a toothbrush, he heard a set of soft footsteps headed in his direction.  “There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink,” Phil told him, his words half cut off by a yawn.  Phil was attractively mussed with his hair sticking up, and there were pink pillow pillow creases on his cheek.  Phil’s old, threadbare t-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, and Clint couldn’t stop his gaze from dipping below Phil’s waist.  His boxers had little cartoon bombs on them.  Huh.

“Clint?”

Clint jerked his head up, his cheeks heating at being caught staring.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

“I don’t mind,” Phil said, his voice coloured with a trace of laughter.  “I was just saying that if you wanted a shower, I can find you a clean towel.”

Stepping forward, he ran his hand soothingly down Clint’s arm.  Clint shivered.  It would be so easy to lean into the touch of Phil’s calloused palm, maybe rest his head against one of Phil’s strong shoulders.  Just for a minute.

“You look like you need about twelve hours more sleep,” Phil said softly.  Shifting even closer, he slid his hands around Clint’s waist.

Giving in, Clint let himself melt against Phil.  “Probably,” he agreed.  “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Phil didn’t say anything in reply, but one of his hands did sneak under Clint’s borrowed t-shirt to rest on the small of Clint’s back.  It was nice.  Breathing in the warm and slightly sweaty scent of Phil’s skin, Clint closed his eyes.  He rested one of his hands on Phil’s chest and let the even beat of Phil’s heart and Phil’s steady presence sink into him.  Clint wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that before Phil reached up to carefully turn over Clint’s right hand.  He blinked open his eyes as Phil pressed a gentle kiss to his new mark, shivering at the touch of Phil’s lips.  Part of Clint figured he should be surprised by the sudden intimacy between them, but truthfully, it had already been mostly there for years.  Clint had just finally stopped holding back the last of himself, and it seemed like maybe Phil was doing the same.

Eventually, Phil pulled back.  “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“But you need to go into the office,” Clint interrupted, before Phil could finish his apology.

“I do,” Phil agreed with a sigh.  “There are some details for several ongoing operations that I need to oversee and finalize, and Fury wants me in a meeting this afternoon.”

Clint shrugged.  Phil was a busy man, and Clint should really let go of Phil’s t-shirt, so he could go and be all badass.  “You’re welcome to stay here, Clint,” Phil whispered.  “As long as you like.”

“Okay,” Clint replied, clinging for another minute before forcing himself to let go.

“I mean it,” Phil said, nudging Clint’s chin up with his fingers.

Forcing a smile, Clint rolled his eyes.  “I get it, Phil,” he quipped, trying to sound more like his usual self.

Phil regarded him intently for another few seconds, before nodding.  “Well, then.  You mind if I take a shower?” he asked.

“Nah,” Clint drawled, refusing to let his mind run away with the image Phil’s words conjured.  “I think I’m just going to sleep a little more, anyway.”

“Okay.”  Phil smile was soft.

Clint beat a hasty retreat before he gave into the various impulses shooting around his brain.  He really did need a few more hours sleep before he could figure out exactly what to do next.  

~*~

Phil heard someone pull out the chair opposite him, but he didn’t look up from the intelligence report he was skimming as he ate his meatloaf.  He didn’t need the sudden hush across the SHIELD cafeteria and the familiar footsteps to tell him who it was.  Besides, Phil was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like whatever Nick Fury had to say, so Nick could just wait until Phil was ready to deal with him.

“Well, it looks like the rumours are true,” Nick teased.

Phil sighed.  He could practically _hear_ the way Nick was smirking.  “What rumours?” he asked as he looked up at his old friend.

“You were _smiling_ ,” Nick said.

“I was smiling?” Phil echoed flatly, reaching for his coffee cup.

Nick nodded, looking amused.  “You were,” he said.  “It was scaring the junior agents.”

Phil huffed.  “I smile sometimes,” he muttered.  He ignored Nick’s pointed look.  “And you came all the way down from your office to tell me this?”

Sipping his own coffee, Nick arched an eyebrow.  “I’m beginning to think I should retract my assessment,” he said.  “What’s up, Phil?”

“Nothing,” Phil replied.  “Why should anything be up?”

“Oh, don’t pull that shit with me,” Nick shot back.  “You took a personal day yesterday, you’ve been smiling all morning, and the second I ask you about it you get all defensive.”  He blinked, before he grinned.  “Shit, Cheese.  Did you get laid?”

Grimacing, Phil shut his eyes as the cafeteria erupted into whispers.  “You’re a bastard, you know that?” he said.  “Did you have to ask me that in the _cafeteria_?”

“It’s for your own good,” Nick replied, smugly drinking his coffee.

“I hate you,” Phil told him.

“So,” Nick said, still smirking.  “Is it anyone I know?”

Phil glared.  “I’m not talking about this _here_.”

Nick narrowed his eye.  “This is about Clint, isn’t it?” he said.

Phil fought the urge to curse.  His inappropriate feelings for Clint were hardly a secret from Nick.  Hell, Nick had been the one to see the signs first.

“I’m surprised either of you came in to work today at all,” Nick said with a smirk.

“I thought personal lives weren’t supposed to get in the way of international security?” Phil replied, arching his eyebrow.

Nick glared back.  “Don’t quote my words back at me out of context,” he grumbled.  “And you know what I mean.”

Closing his eyes, Phil blew out a breath.  If only the situation were that simple.

“Phil, when I go back upstairs, am I going to find a piece of paperwork I’m going to really, really hate?” Nick asked in a low voice, eyeing Phil with sudden concern.

After thirty years, Nick understood Phil down to his bones.  Phil winced.  He’d been hoping that Nick wouldn’t actually see the form he’d submitted until after the weekend.  Declaring his Match to Clint needed to be done, both for SHIELD to officially recognize it, but also because there needed to be formalities in place for Clint’s sake if something ever happened to Phil.  Choosing the more formal of the paperwork options, the one that required signed declarations from all parties about their intentions towards the Match, had been Phil’s attempt to give Clint space.  Clint needed time to deal with everything that had happened, and truthfully, so did Phil.  Phil wasn’t going to force Clint into pursuing a Match he didn’t want, just for the sake of having someone, and the formal paperwork would give him a chance to make his desires known.  Even if that meant that their Match never went any further, Phil would respect Clint’s decision.

Letting out a breath, he opened his eyes and matched Nick’s scowl with his own level stare.  “Clint may be my Match,” he said quietly, “but he still deserves to make his own choice about this.”

Nick blinked, and then scowled.  “I’m sorry, what?” he replied, leaning forward in an attempt to stop anyone else from overhearing.  Phil appreciated the gesture, even though he wasn’t sure it would do much good.

“I’m not going to push Clint into anything he doesn’t want,” Phil said firmly.

Nick’s eyebrows rose.  “And backing off and leaving everything to him is supposed to fix that?” he asked archly.  “You know _exactly_ what Clint is going to feel, and it’s not you giving him space.  It’s a dick move, particularly from you.”

Phil winced.  Nick was angry.  “I don’t want to make it seem…” he began.  “I’m hardly his ideal Match…”  Frowning, he looked up at Nick.  “Up until now, Clint has never had a choice about this.  I’m not taking that away from him.”

Nick sighed.  “Phil, I love you like a brother, but you are an idiot,” he said.  “Matches are a _partnership_ \- equal bonds between everyone in them.  The whole point is that you’re stronger together.”  He eyed Phil over the rim of his coffee mug.  “Now tell me, why is Clint supposed to fight so hard for you when he doesn’t even know you’re in love with him?”

Phil closed his eyes.  If they hadn’t been in the cafeteria, he might have banged his head on the table.  “Well, when you put it like that…”

“You’re an asshole?” Nick finished.

Grimacing, Phil nodded. It was kind of a dick move, but the insecurities were looming large in his head, and Phil wasn’t sure how to react to everything anymore.

“So, are you going to fix it?” Nick asked.

“Yes,” Phil said, sitting back in his chair.  “Of course.”

“Good,” Nick replied, his expression softening.  “I’m going to tell you this, just so we’re clear, because I’m not sure you’ve noticed yet.  As far as Clint Barton is concerned, you hung the moon, Phil.  He adores you.”  Nick held up a finger when Phil opened his mouth to disagree.  “He _does_ ,” Nick insisted.  “Shut up and listen to me, idiot.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Phil said softly.  Nick just smiled as Phil gathered up his reports and his coffee cup and stood.  “If you’ll excuse me,” Phil added, ignoring the way his pulse was suddenly elevated.  He was being ridiculous.

“Go,” Nick said, interrupting his thoughts.

Paying no attention to the smirk that went with the words, Phil did as he was told.  He headed straight for his office, intending to dump the intelligence reports on his desk before he attempted to track Clint down.  Except, as soon as Phil unlocked the door, he saw he wouldn’t have to go looking for Clint after all.  

“Clint,” he greeted, his stomach churning with sudden nerves.

“Coulson,” Clint replied, his tone hard and undeniably pissed.  He glared at Phil, his jaw clenched and his eyes practically sparking with anger as he held up a copy of the paperwork Phil had filed that morning.  Phil’s heart lurched in his chest, and he had to glance away.

“I’m sorry, Clint…” he began.

“Shut up,” Clint snapped.  “Just shut up, you stupid, self-sacrificing _idiot_.”

Startled, Phil blinked back at Clint, who had somehow moved closer without Phil noticing.  Clint’s face loomed in his, close enough that Phil could see the green and gold in Clint’s eyes.  He thrust the papers in his hand into Phil’s face, so Phil could form number at the top of the page, as if Phil could have somehow forgotten.  “What the hell is this?” Clint demanded.

Phil opened his mouth to apologize again, but Clint furiously slapped his free hand over Phil’s mouth.  “No, on second thought, shut up,” Clint growled.  “This is my turn to talk.  You talked enough when you filed a 13D this morning.”  He huffed out a breath, before he seemed to deflate.  “I get that this situation is all fucked up, but I want whatever this is between us to actually have a chance.  I don’t want to file any declarations about giving you up, Phil.  Can’t we please talk about this?”

Gently, Phil took the forms from Clint’s hand, and placed them on his desk.  Clint’s eyes were wide and beseeching as he stared at Phil, and Phil’s resistance crumbled.  Letting out a breath, Phil gathered his determination.  He could do this.  “I was giving you the space I thought you needed. I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said quietly.  “But, as it has been recently pointed out to me, I shouldn’t have just assumed things.”

“No,” Clint said, folding his arms across his chest.  “You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil apologized again.

“Phil.”  Clint sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.  “I don’t want you to apologize.  I just want to know how you _feel_.”  His shoulders were slumped, but a glimmer of hope was written all over his face, and Phil couldn’t be yet another person who had denied Clint what he wanted.

Phil swallowed.  The words caught in his throat, and it seemed impossible that Clint _didn’t know_.  “I love you,” he said, his shoulders twitching in a helpless shrug.  “Of course I love you.  How could I not?” He waved a hand in Clint’s direction.  Now that he’d started, the words were tumbling out.  “You’re amazing.  You… I’ve always been awed at how your mind can come up with solutions to complicated problems, usually while bullets are flying.  You’re dedicated and loyal, and so smart when you’re not trying to hide it.  You make me laugh, and frankly, you’re gorgeous.  I’ve spent years training myself not to swallow my tongue when I see you on the range.  Or wearing tight clothes on undercover missions, still so at ease in your own skin.”

Phil took a deep, shaking breath.  Confessing how he felt to Clint had lifted a weight off his shoulders, even if Clint was staring at him in silence, his face blank.  “Clint?” he asked hesitantly.

Clint blinked.  “You… I… _Phil_ ,” he said, flailing his hand a little.  Phil had no idea what the gesture was supposed to mean, or what question Clint was trying to get out.  Finally, Clint blew out a breath.  “Why the hell didn’t you ever ask me out?” Clint demanded.

Phil shrugged.  “I didn’t think you were interested,” he replied.  “You guarded your wrist so carefully and always changed the subject when someone asked you about your mark… I assumed you knew who your Match was, and it wasn’t me.  Or that it was me, and that wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Phil.”  Clint’s eyes were soft and unaccountably fond.  “There’s no one else I’d want it to be.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose, the swirling tension in his stomach finally easing a little.  “Really?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Really,” Clint agreed firmly.  He stepped closer, a smile blooming across his face.  “I’ve been falling for you since the first day I met you, Phil.”

Phil blinked, frozen in his tracks.  He didn’t have a strategy to deal with this, no relevant experience for Clint’s words.  Clint’s smile grew, amusement glittering in his eyes as he slid his hands underneath Phil’s jacket to rest on Phil’s hips.  Phil cleared his throat as his own hands instinctively came up to rest on Clint’s impressive arms.  “You’re falling for me?” he asked, his voice barely above a rasp.

“I think it’s more like fallen at this point,” Clint whispered.  His eyes were so impossibly close that Phil could almost drown in them.  “I love you, Phil.”

“ _Oh_.”  Phil barely had time to breathe the word before Clint’s lips were on his.  His hands tightened on Clint’s biceps as he gasped at that first, tingling touch.  Phil had always heard kissing your Match for the first time was special, but even his romantic heart hadn’t entirely believed it.  He believed it now.  Shivers raced up and down his spine that had nothing to do with the urge to get Clint into bed, and everything to do with the bond forming between them.  The kiss was sweet and gentle, just a soft press of lips and the overwhelming wave of love and longing that came with kissing the man of his dreams.

Finally, Clint pulled back.  “So,” he said.  “No more filing stupid bits of paperwork?”

Phil smiled, wide enough to hurt.  “I can’t guarantee that.  I have to deal with the FBI later.”

Clint huffed, and poked Phil in the chest.  “About us, asshole,” he muttered.

“No,” Phil said, swallowing against his suddenly dry throat.  “No more submitting any stupid paperwork about us.  I promise.”

“Good,” Clint replied, leaning forward to press another brief kiss to Phil’s lips.  “I’m going to go and grab lunch with Natasha, but I’ll see you later?”

Clint was uncharacteristically hesitant, and Phil couldn’t help reassuring him with another kiss.  He could get addicted to that.  “I’d like that,” he agreed.

“Cool.” Clint grinned.  “Later, then.”

“Yeah,” Phil replied, unabashedly watching Clint leave.  “Later.”

~*~

Clint was still bouncing when he slipped into the seat opposite Natasha at their favourite lunch place, about three blocks from the New York SHIELD offices.  The little café was almost always busy, but food was amazing.  The outdoor tables were also surrounded by planter boxes filled with herbs and sweet smelling flowers, which kept things mostly private.  Natasha glanced up from the menu, and quirked an eyebrow in question.  “Someone’s happy today,”  she drawled.

“I am,” Clint told her, sliding off his sunglasses so she could read the truth in his eyes.

Natasha blinked, and then smiled.  “So you finally told Coulson, huh?”

“Yeah, I did,” Clint admitted.  “But that’s not all.”  Carefully, he shrugged off his jacket, and unbuckled the cuff on his wrist.  Natasha watched him, her eyes widening slightly, and Clint spotted the exact second she saw the new mark on his wrist.  “It’s Phil’s, Tash,” he whispered, unable to stop his fingers tracing over the black lines.

Smiling softly, Natasha ducked her head when one of the waitresses walked past their table.  “Well, that explains the new rumour doing the rounds,” she said.

Clint blinked.  “What new rumour?” he asked, hiding his wrist again with the cuff.  It was still so new, his scars were still raw and only just knitting back together.  Eventually, Clint knew he’d be proud to show his mark.  To let everyone see how lucky he was to be Matched to Phil.  But right now, Clint preferred to keep the knowledge between himself and a trusted few.

“Apparently,” Natasha said, leaning forward as her lips curled upwards in an amused smirk, “Coulson took yesterday off because his secret lover was in town.  According to gossip, they spent the day doing dirty, unspeakable things to each other.  Of course, you should hear the ideas the junior agents have about who this mysterious lover is.”  She snorted, shaking her head.  “Idiots.”

Clint’s face flamed.  “Tash!  We… that wasn’t…” he stuttered.

Natasha laughed.  “Oh, Clint, I know,” she replied, reaching over to squeeze his hand.  “I’ve been your friend for how long?”

Huffing, Clint ducked his head.  “Shut up,” he said.

Chuckling, Natasha left off her teasing long enough for the waitress to take their orders.  “But you do want to sleep with him, don’t you?” she asked when the waitress was gone.

Clint sent her a flat look.  “Tash, I’ve wanted to sleep with Phil since about three hours after I met him,” he grumbled.  “And you know that.”

“True,” Natasha agreed.  “I just wanted to make sure your grand seduction plans hadn’t gotten lost in all the daydreaming about your wedding.”

His cheeks burning _again_ , Clint glared at her.  “I… that’s…” he protested.

“Really?” Natasha said.  “You’re like every fairy tale ever.  You’ve found your Prince, and now you want your riding into the sunset, wedding bells ringing, happily ever after.”  Natasha smiled at Clint’s eyeroll.  “I _get_ it.  But you should tell Coulson,” she added softly.  “In case _he_ doesn’t get it.”

“Tash…” Clint began.

“I know,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes.  “Two heartfelt confessions in the same week will make your poor brain explode, but it needs to be done.”

Clint huffed.  “Yeah, I know,” he agreed.  Natasha’s words were particularly true if Phil’s urge to file ridiculous paperwork was an example.  Clint wasn’t _ever_ going to submit a declaration not to pursue his Match - pursue _Phil_.  “I just… How?  It’s not the kind of thing you bring up over pizza.”

“Why not?” Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow again.  “All relationships need communication.”

“I do know that,” Clint grumbled.  “I’m not the complete disaster everyone thinks I am.”

Natasha smirked as the waitress returned with her salad, Clint’s burger and two coffees.  “If it helps, you can always think of it like a mission,” she said, sipping her coffee after the waitress left again.  “Figure out what your objective is, and then set the operational parameters.”

Clint blinked, and raised both his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Natasha grumbled, and her cheeks actually turned a faint pink.  “It helped me, okay?”

“Sure,” Clint said, glancing down at his burger to make sure he put the right amount of ketchup on it.  “It’s a good idea.”  If Clint treated it like a mission, he could do it.  Probably.

Natasha huffed.  “You’re going to be pathetic about this, aren’t you?” she said.

“Shut up,” Clint grumbled.  “Will you…”  He swallowed.  “Will you help me?”

Natasha sent him a look that spoke volumes about the stupidity of that question.  “Yes, Clint,” she said.  Her voice held an undercurrent of mocking that was completely unnecessary, in Clint’s opinion.  “I will help you plan Coulson’s grand seduction.”

“Okay.  Good.”  Clint ducked his head and shoved a bite of burger into his mouth.

“Charming,” Natasha muttered dryly.  “But seriously, Clint, you need to talk to Phil before you fall into bed with him.”

Clint swallowed his mouthful, ignoring the way the burger immediately sat heavily in his stomach.  “Tash…”

“I mean it,” Natasha cut in, gesturing threateningly at him with her fork.  Clint didn’t think she meant it as a threat, but Clint had seen firsthand and on multiple occasions what the woman could do with cutlery.  “I’m not going to let the two of you brood for another three years because you can’t have a conversation like rational adults,” Natasha added darkly.

Blinking, Clint decided it would be far less painful if he just listened to Natasha.  Plus, she probably had a point.  “Okay,” he agreed.  “I’ll talk to Phil before any seduction happens.  Promise.”

Natasha smiled.  “Good.”

~*~

Phil was just getting ready to finally leave his office, when his phone rang.  Checking the screen, he smiled at the name.  “Hey, Pepper,” he greeted as he answered.

“Phil,” Pepper replied warmly.  “I was going to call yesterday, but then I thought you might be busy, only I didn’t hear from you today, either…”  She trailed off with a huff of air.  “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you just going to let me babble?”

Smiling, Phil sank back down into his chair.  “It went well.  At least, I think it did?” he said.

“Clint got his mark?” Pepper asked, sounding a little breathless.  Phil didn’t hold it against her - being hopeless romantics was something they shared.

“He did,” Phil told her, his breath hitching and his heart thumping as he remembered the way his mark had slowly appeared on Clint’s skin.

Pepper gasped.  “Oh, please tell me it matches yours?”

“It does.”  Phil had to clear his suddenly thick throat.

“That’s wonderful.  I’m so happy for you, Phil,” Pepper gushed, before her voice hardened into something far more knowing.  “Now, please tell me you told Clint that too, and are not currently being an idiot.”

Phil let out a startled chuckle, his head falling back so he could grin up at the ceiling.  “You know, Nick told me something very similar not too long ago,” he said.

Pepper hummed.  “So you were being an idiot, weren’t you?”

“I was possibly a little short sighted in my actions, but I fixed it,” Phil told her.

“Uh huh,” Pepper replied.

“I did!” Phil protested.

Pepper was silent for a moment.  “Okay, then what’s the problem?” she said.

Staring up at the ceiling, Phil took a moment to find the right words.  “I’m concerned…”  He blew out a sigh.  Treating this like a debrief wasn’t going to help.  “I don’t know what to do next,” he admitted.

Pepper was silent for a beat.  “I’m not exactly certain how to take that, but I’m going to suggest you talk to Clint about it.  He deserves to know whatever you’re uncertain about.  Otherwise, the internet is a marvellous resource for all sorts of… requirements.”

Huffing out an embarrassed laugh, Phil put a hand over his eyes.  “Your delicate phrasing is appreciated, but this isn’t a sex thing,” he told her.  “Sex things I can handle.  This is a…”

“Talking about your feelings thing?” Pepper finished for him, when he trailed off.

“I’m not that bad,” Phil protested half-heartedly.

“You really are,” Pepper replied.  She sounded altogether too amused.

Phil sighed.  “I just… I have no experience for this, Pepper,” he said.  “Normally… I take dates out to dinner, and for walks in the park for lunch to get to know them, but I already know Clint.  He’s my friend, and we’ve known each other for years.  I’m not sure the standard stuff applies.”

“Maybe,” Pepper agreed, “but everyone likes to feel appreciated.”

“Selfishly, I also don’t want to wait that long,” Phil said.  “Knowing SHIELD, any dates we went on would be rare and probably interrupted by a million different things.”

“Well,” Pepper said with a thoughtful hum.  “I’m not sure you need to mount a complicated campaign to woo Clint, exactly?”

Phil run a hand over his face.  “I just… I’ve always suspected that Clint was it for me.  Someone I would love until my last breath.  Having his mark match mine just seals that for me.  And as much as I would love to fall into bed with Clint, I want to start this out _right_.  Build something that we both want, and that’s going to be able to withstand all the shit our lives at SHIELD are going to throw at us.”

Pepper was silent for a beat.  “Phil,” she said.  “You need to tell Clint that.”

“I do understand communication…” Phil said.

“No,” Pepper interrupted.  “I mean, you need to _tell him that_.  Use those words.  Tell him exactly what you just said to me.”

A sound from the doorway had Phil looking up, and he blinked as he saw Clint standing there, a flummoxed expression on his face.  “I don’t think I have to,” Phil said quietly.

“Phillip Coulson,” Pepper snapped, clearly gearing up for a rant against his stupidity.

Phil smiled.  “He overheard me, Pepper,” he said.

Clint ducked his head, and bit his lip, as if guilty.  Phil arched an eyebrow at him in reply, because Clint had never been abashed about eavesdropping in the past.

“Well, then.  Go get your boy,” Pepper said.

“Thanks, Pepper,” Phil said.  “I will.”

Hanging up the phone, Phil had to suppress the nervous butterflies in his stomach.  It was ridiculous to be so nervous after everything that already lay between them, but Phil had never found it easy to lay his heart on the line.  His life, yes.  But not his heart.

“So… ‘til your last breath, huh?” Clint said softly, still hesitating in the doorway.

Standing up, Phil shrugged a little helplessly.  “That tends to be how I love someone, Clint.  I love them with everything I have until it’s not enough anymore.”

Clint stepped in and closed the door.  “Fuck, Natasha was right,” he said.  “I’m just going to say this upfront and out loud, okay?  Before anyone gets any ideas and we end up torturing each other for another few years.”  He looked Phil square in the eye, and straightened his shoulders, like he was facing down Nick for a debrief.  “I love you, Phil.  I _want_ this Match, and everything that comes with it - the bad stuff as well as the good.  I want to wake up to you every morning that I can, and fall asleep with you on the couch.  And if we get naked somewhere in the middle, that’s good with me too.”  He smiled, but it was bittersweet.  “Natasha accused me of wanting a fairytale ending, and I do, Phil.  I want my fairytale.”  Shrugging, he blushed a little.  “No pressure, or anything.”

Phil couldn’t help it.  He chuckled.  There was a bright, effervescent feeling bubbling out of his chest.  “Yes,” he said.  “Yes, to all that.  God, Clint.  I want that, too.”

Clint’s smile broadened into something bright and happy, as he held out a hand, his palm upwards.  Phil took it without hesitation, and let himself be pulled forward into Clint’s arms.  Clint was still grinning when he leaned in to press a kiss to Phil’s lips, but Phil didn’t care.  Clint’s smile was breathtakingly beautiful.  “So,” Clint said quietly when he pulled back.  “If I asked to come home with you, and then just stayed, would that be creepy?”

Phil’s hands tightened on Clint’s hips, and he forced his grip to relax.  “I don’t care,” he said roughly.  “I’d say yes anyway.”

“Awesome.”  Clint’s hand closed around Phil’s tie and tugged, his eyes dancing with mischief.  Phil resisted cautioning Clint about creasing the silk, because there was a gorgeous man pulling Phil in for a kiss.  A gorgeous man Phil was in love with and who was in love with him.  Ties did not compare to that at all.

This time, the kiss was harder, rougher.  The heat of Clint sank through Phil's shirt, the solid strength of Clint’s compactly-muscled chest pressed against his.  Clint wound his arms around Phil’s waist, his hands bunching in the back of Phil’s shirt, and one of Phil’s own hands slid up Clint’s impressive bicep to rest against Clint’s neck and jaw.  Clint nipped at Phil’s bottom lip, and when Phil gasped, Clint surged in to take ruthless advantage, the kiss turning wet and filthy.  Phil lost a little time, his brain almost overheating with the reality of Clint in his arms like he’d always dreamed.  Finally, Phil pulled back to rest his forehead against Clint’s for a moment, his heart racing to match his panting breaths.  “We should probably not be doing this in my office,” he said, pulling back.

Clint grinned, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed from Phil’s hands.  “Are you tell me you never imagined bending me over your desk, Agent Coulson?” he teased.

Phil closed his eyes for a second, because Clint bent over any flat surface was a hell of an image.  “Not in my office, no,” he replied when he could finally gather his wits again.  “I’d much rather do that somewhere private, where it’s just us, and no one else.”

Clint moaned, his eyes darkening.  “Yes, let’s go with that plan,” he replied.

For a heartbeat, Phil considered telling Clint that they didn’t have to rush, that there was plenty of time to give in to everything, but he realized he didn’t actually want to.  Instead, he just smiled.  “Then let’s go home.”

Clint pressed another brief kiss to Phil’s lips.  “Okay,” he agreed.

~*~

Clint grinned as he was unceremoniously shoved up against the door, finally inside Phil’s apartment.  Phil’s body was a line of solid heat along his front, Phil’s warm breath brushing his collarbone as Phil panted against his neck.  “You know, I was trying to be a gentleman,” Phil muttered, sliding a leg between Clint’s, and nipping at Clint’s skin.

Gasping, Clint clenched his hands in the back of Phil’s shirt under Phil’s jacket.  “Well, then you should have kept your hands to yourself in the car,” he replied.

Phil raised his head, his beautiful blue eyes darkening, and a faint flush on his cheeks.  “Clint…” he began.

“No, hey.”  Clint relinquished his grip on Phil’s shirt, and reached up to cup Phil’s face with both hands.  “We’ve got the rest of our lives for you to be a gentleman.  But right now, I’d really like you to pay attention to my dick before it falls off.”

Dropping his head to Clint’s shoulder, Phil huffed out a laugh, the sound muffled by Clint’s t-shirt.  “This doesn’t have to be a grand seduction, you know,” Clint said quietly.  He carded his fingers gently through the hair at the nape of Phil’s neck.  “I’m an easy guy - pizza, beer, and I’m yours.”  He smiled and waggled his eyebrows when Phil lifted his head again with a glare.  “Sometimes I don’t even need the pizza,” Clint added.

“You are not _easy_ in the slightest, Clint Barton,” Phil growled, and a shiver slid down Clint’s spine at the husky edge to Phil’s voice.  “You are maddening,” Phil continued roughly, before leaning in for another kiss, demanding and deep.  Clint gave in eagerly, because kissing Phil was _amazing_.  “...and reckless, and very, very brave…”  Phil pulled back, his hands now tangled in Clint’s hair.  “But not _easy_.”

Clint arched an eyebrow.  “What’s wrong with being easy?” he replied, even though his brain was demanding to know why he was bringing this up _now_.

“Nothing,” Phil said softly.  He brought his hand down to rest on Clint’s chest, right over his heart.  “But I’m not talking about getting into your pants, Clint.”

Clint sort of melted inside at Phil’s words.  Every casual comment about _love_ and _permanence_ sent a jolt of the same warm happiness through Clint’s chest, and had his heart beating just a little bit faster.  Clint was a grown ass man and should not be so ridiculous when it came to his feelings, but Phil had always been his exception.  Plus, it was Phil, so Clint was pretty sure the ridiculousness was mutual.  Still, he wasn’t about to admit most of that out loud.  His tongue would probably strangle him if he tried.  “If you’re not trying to get into my pants, then why is your hand on my ass?” he asked with a smirk.

“Jerk,” Phil muttered fondly, biting down on Clint’s bottom lip in retaliation.

Clint couldn’t stop the shudder that went through him.  “I’d really like you to get into my pants,” he gasped.

Somehow, Clint had lost his leather jacket, but Phil’s suit was mostly untouched.  His jacket was a little crooked from Clint’s roaming hands, and his tie was loose, but that was it.  And as much as Clint was itching to strip him out of his clothes, there was something about a slightly mussed Phil that sent a jolt of lust through Clint’s stomach.  Phil’s thumb stroked over Clint's cheek as he smiled slightly, and Clint couldn’t stop the rise of his eyebrows.  “What?” he asked.

Phil ducked his head slightly, his smile turning sheepish.  “Nothing, it’s just… You’re beautiful.  It just sort of hits me sometimes.”

Clint opened his mouth a little, lost for words.  That warm feeling was bubbling up in his chest again.  Giving up on trying to untangle his surging emotions, Clint slid his hand down to clench in Phil’s lapel, uncaring of the creases, and tugged him closer.  He kissed Phil, trying to channel everything he was feeling into it.  Phil arched forward, pressing Clint harder against the door.  Clint let out a breathy moan when Phil’s thigh pushed against his erection.  He’d been half-hard for most of the drive back to Phil’s apartment, and being pushed against the door as soon as they’d gotten inside had done the rest.  Between them, their growing bond sparked, sending shivers up and down Clint’s spine with every brush of Phil’s hands on his skin.  Clint wanted _more_.

“Phil,” he hummed, dragging himself away from Phil’s biting, wet kisses.

“Yes?” Phil replied, his voice deep and rough, and Clint tried not to be distracted.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he muttered, his hand sliding underneath Phil’s jacket to rest above Phil’s thumping heart.

Phil leaned down to kiss Clint’s neck again, and Clint had to swallow another moan.  “Okay,” Phil finally agreed.  Clint immediately felt cold as Phil stepped back, but Phil’s eyes were hot as his hand fisted in Clint’s t-shirt to pull Clint with him.  “I can fix that.”

Grinning, Clint let himself be dragged in what he hoped was the direction of the bedroom.  As always, Phil’s unerring competency was _hot_ , because he somehow didn’t trip over anything while walking backwards.  “You wouldn’t be the Great Agent Coulson if you couldn’t,” Clint agreed, stumbling over his feet slightly as Phil gave another tug on his t-shirt.

Phil rolled his eyes, and Clint grinned.  “Will you stop using that ridiculous nickname?” he asked.

“I think it’s cute the way the junior agents idolize you,” Clint replied.  “I mean, who wouldn’t?”  Phil’s intent, heated gaze had Clint’s breath catching in his lungs.  Being the subject of Phil’s entire focus had the power to do that.  “Wait, hang on,” Clint added a little breathlessly when Phil moved to open the bedroom door.  Using the slight pause in their journey, Clint toed off his boots and pulled off his socks.  “Okay,” he said with a grin.  “You may lead on now.”

“Oh, may I?” Phil asked, his voice a rich rumble that had Clint shuddering.

Phil didn’t relinquish his grip on Clint’s t-shirt even when they made it to the bedroom.  Instead, Phil used his hold to pull Clint in for another kiss.  Clint didn’t resist, opening his mouth greedily under Phil’s, even as he reached up to slip the jacket from Phil’s shoulders.  Finally allowing Clint to relieve him of his jacket, Phil moved to nip and kiss Clint’s jaw and neck.  His breath hitching, Clint broke away just enough to glance around the room.  “Over the back of the chair is fine,” Phil whispered, sounding amused at Clint’s uncertainty at what to do with his jacket.

“Shut up,” Clint grumbled, not really meaning it.  “I’m trying to be considerate here.”

“And it’s appreciated,” Phil replied.  He slid back in to kiss Clint as soon as Clint tossed the jacket over the chair as directed.  “But right now I don’t care much about my suit.”

Smirking, Clint raised his eyebrows.  “What would the junior agents think?” he quipped.

“I don’t much care about the junior agents right now, either,” Phil shot back.  

With one hand, he reached up to loosen his tie, but Clint batted his hands away so he could do that himself.  Carefully, he unwound the silk from Phil’s neck, laying it over the jacket on the chair.  When he glanced back up, Phil was watching him, an amused curl to his mouth.  Phil’s hands were warm on Clint’s hips, and he shivered again as he unbuttoned the collar of Phil’s shirt.  Phil looked strangely vulnerable the more Clint exposed, and Clint couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward and taste Phil’s skin.  Phil hummed, letting his head fall to the side to give Clint more room as his hands slid underneath Clint’s t-shirt.  His calloused palms glided slowly up Clint’s back and over his ribs as they pushed up the fabric.  Lifting his head and arms, Clint let Phil strip the t-shirt from him, before returning his attention to Phil’s buttons.  Heat sparked all over Clint’s skin, lust swirling low in his stomach.

Phil caught Clint’s lips in a kiss, his hands continuing their slow exploration.  Part of the heady sensation was the bond between them, not fully formed without a Matchmaker, but still there, like invisible ink underneath his skin.  But the rest of it was just Phil.  His hands felt so good after Clint’s desperate longing to learn their touch, and when Phil ran his hands slowly down Clint’s chest to his jeans, he moaned long and loud.  “Shit,” he gasped, sucking in a lungful of air.  They hadn’t even gotten naked yet.  “Phil… I’m not…”

The words were a jumble of noise in his head.  Most of his overheated brain was focused on the brush of Phil’s fingers on his stomach, and the stubborn buttons of Phil’s shirt.  He wanted to touch and taste, and bury himself in Phil’s solid strength until nothing could ever untangle them again.  “Easy,” Phil soothed, his hands settling over Clint’s to stop his fumbling.  “You said it yourself,” Phil said softly, his hands coming up to cup Clint’s face.  “We have the rest of our lives to do this.”

Clint groaned, surging forward to pull Phil into a deep, messy kiss.  Tears prickled his eyes at the absolute _certainty_ in Phil’s voice, as if growing old with Clint was a universal constant.  Clint _really_ liked the sound of that.

Trying to distract himself from his overwhelming emotions, Clint helped Phil remove his cufflinks, and then the rest of his shirt.  As soon as he had, Clint arched forward, pressing them chest to chest.  The touch of all that skin sent heat sparking through Clint, pooling low in his stomach, and dragged a ragged moan from both of them.  Sparks rippled up and down Clint’s spine, spreading across his skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake as the growing bond flared.

“Do you feel that?” Phil murmured in a rasping voice, his palms trailing up Clint’s arms.

“Mmm,” Clint hummed in reply, lost in the sensations.  “It’s going to make it difficult to keep my hands off you.”

Phil leaned in, his lips brushing Clint’s lips.  “I know.  Like that wasn’t going to be hard enough already.”

Clint smirked, but before he could make a pun, Phil was kissing him.  Sliding his arms around Phil's waist, Clint stroked up Phil’s back, needing to memorise every dip of muscle, and the strength hidden beneath the soft skin.  His heart was pounding in his chest, caught between the reality of what was happening and the fantasies trapped in his head.  Phil was so warm and alive in his arms, finally squashing the last cold kernel of doubt in Clint’s chest.  Clint shivered as Phil’s calloused palms ran over his ribs, Phil’s fingers finding the ridge of scars where a knife had almost led to Clint bleeding out in a back alley in Laos.

Clint shivered again, this time with the knowledge of how many things could have gone wrong before they’d gotten here.  How many times he could have died, or Phil could have been taken from him.

“Clint…” Phil said quietly, his palm steady and warm on the skin of Clint’s back.

“I’m okay,” he replied, tucking his head against Phil’s neck and just breathing for a moment.

One of Phil’s hands reached up to gently card through his hair.  “We can stop, you know,” Phil said softly.  “Watch a movie or something.”

Clint pulled back and shot Phil a look that conveyed without words just what he thought of that kind of stupidity.  Having Phil want him back had seemed like an impossible dream for so long that there was no way in hell that Clint was giving it up now that he had it.  Thankfully, Phil just gave him a fondly amused smile and let Clint push him backwards onto the bed.  Phil reached out at the last minute to grab Clint’s wrist, pulling him down, and they landed with a bounce in a tangle of limbs.  A smile tugging at his mouth, Clint looked up at Phil.  When their gazes met, Clint couldn’t stop his huff of laughter at the way Phil’s eyes were dancing.  “I thought you were trying to be a gentleman,” Clint accused.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be?” Phil countered, hauling Clint up until Clint was looming over him.

Helpless to resist, Clint bent down for a kiss.  He slid his hand up Phil’s broad chest, his fingers scratching through the sparse chest hair that glinted silver in patches.  In retaliation, Phil trailed his hands down to Clint’s ass.  Clint’s breath hitched at the touch, his hips rocking forwards.  He swallowed Phil’s gasp, rolling his hips harder into Phil’s, and Phil gripped his ass harder, thrusting up against him.  Dragging his mouth away from Phil’s, Clint listened to the sound of Phil’s rasping breath as he kissed his way along Phil’s jaw to his throat.  To have Phil coming apart under his hands like this was a rush unlike anything else.  It was hotter and deeper than the joy of using his bow, the knowledge that he was Phil’s as much as Phil was his curling around his heart.  It was enough to have Clint’s knees feeling kind of wobbly.

Leaning back a little, Clint let his hand slide down the soft material of Phil’s slacks, the muscles warm beneath the fabric.  Phil’s throat moved as he swallowed, and Clint grinned.  He pulled off Phil’s shoes, then his socks, tossing them uncaring to the floor.  Phil arched an eyebrow, but Clint was intent on his target now.  He smirked back at Phil and reached for Phil’s belt.  If it was anyone else, Clint might have been tempted to tease a little, but this was Phil.  Clint had been in love with Phil for _years_ , and he couldn’t wait anymore.

Phil helpfully lifted his hips as Clint stripped him of his pants too, tossing the slacks in the direction of the chair.  Phil’s eyes danced with silent laughter when the fabric fell to the floor.  Before he could say anything, Clint distracted him by running a hand up his thigh to the waistband of his boxers.  “Phil…” he began, his eyes flicking to the soft curve of Phil’s smile, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.  Clint blinked, as everything inside him just went yes.  This was him.  Clint’s Match.

“I know,” Phil replied softly.  Catching Clint’s hand, he turned it over so that he could get to the buckles on the underside of Clint’s cuff.  Then, almost reverently, Phil undid the cuff and dipped his head to press a gentle kiss to Clint’s mark.

Clint shivered.  Then Phil slid his hand up Clint’s arm and tugged Clint up for a kiss.  Clint went willingly, because he’d always been willing to follow Phil’s plans.  He smiled into the kiss when Phil expertly flipped them in a move Phil had _definitely_ learned from Natasha.  Wrapping a leg around the back of Phil’s thigh, Clint gave himself over to the echoing sensations flaring between them.  He wasn’t used to feeling this way, so out of control and breathless, like he was burning up from the inside out.  His heart thundered in his ears, because this was what he’d been craving for so long.  

Licking into Phil’s mouth, Clint pulled Phil even closer, until Phil’s familiar and solid weight was pressing him down into the mattress.  Sparks of heat burned everywhere they touched, and Clint swallowed a moan when Phil rolled his hips against Clint’s, pressing their hard cocks together.  Phil’s hands swept down Clint’s chest, nails gently scratching, and Clint arched off the bed with a gasp.  “So beautiful,” Phil murmured, punctuating the words with kisses down Clint’s chest.

The scrape of Phil’s stubble against his stomach had Clint’s breath hitching.  Before Clint could get his wits back, Phil had Clint’s jeans and underwear off.  Phil’s boxers had disappeared too, because suddenly there was all this glorious naked skin to explore.  Clint cursed at the sensation of air on his bare cock, his hands tightening on Phil’s biceps.  Sliding down even further, Phil leaned in to nuzzle at the base of Clint’s cock, before giving it a long, slow lick.  “Fuck!” Clint gasped, arching up.

The smile Phil flashed was wicked, his blue eyes dark.  Then Clint’s cock was suddenly engulfed in wet heat as Phil swallowed him down.  It was only Phil’s hands on Clint’s hips that stopped him from jerking upwards.  “ _Fuck_ , Phil,” he breathed.

Clint spread his legs wider, because _fuck_ that felt _good_.  Phil glanced up, eyes half-lidded and dancing with mischief.  Clint was helpless to look away, his skin overheated and sensitive.  Sucking hard, Phil pressed his tongue against the underside of Clint’s cock, and Clint had to squeeze his eyes shut not to come on the spot.  A low, rumbling moan was pulled from somewhere deep in Clint’s chest.

Phil hummed, wrapping a warm hand around the base of Clint’s cock, and Clint whimpered, his hips jerking again towards the heat of Phil’s mouth.  A surge of lust spiked through Clint, and he couldn’t take much more.  He wanted to be able to see Phil’s face as he came.  Reaching down, he scrabbled for Phil’s shoulder.  “Phil, _please_ ,” he said, his voice edging towards breathless.  “Get up here.”

His cock slipped from Phil’s lips with a wet pop, and Clint pulled until Phil was moving up the bed to kiss Clint, deep and messy.  Phil’s muscles trembled slightly under Clint’s hands, straining with tension, and Clint could see no reason not to give them what they both wanted.  Hooking a leg over Phil’s hip, Clint fumbled a hand between them and managed to wrap it around Phil’s cock, thumb rubbing against the slit.  Phil groaned against Clint’s mouth, his hips jerking.

Shifting again, Clint somehow managed to get their cocks lined up.  Lightning crackled up his spine, Phil’s breath hot as he panted against Clint’s neck.  Still slick with spit and pre-come, Clint’s dick slid wetly against Phil’s, and the friction was enough to have Clint seeing stars.  Beyond the nearly overwhelming physical sensations, a bright, burning kernel of heat was growing in Clint’s chest, spreading throughout his body.  With Phil this close, he could almost see the bond growing between them, stretching out across their skin and tying them together forever.

“Shit, Clint, you feel so good,” Phil muttered breathlessly.

Panting into Phil’s mouth, Clint rolled his hips.  In his hand, Phil’s cock jumped, a sharp noise escaping Phil’s throat.  Phil’s hand came down to wrap around Clint’s, and they rocked together, breaths mingled as gasps and curses fell from their lips.

“Imagine,” Phil said, ducking his head to lick into Clint’s mouth.  “What it’s going to feel like when you fuck me.”

For a second, Clint couldn’t breathe, the air caught in his lungs.  Phil’s hand tightened around their cocks, and Clint whined.  Phil’s hand was _perfect_ , the rasp of his callouses just rough enough on Clint’s sensitive skin.  “Come on,” he muttered.  “Come on, come on, come _on_.”

Their fingers tangled on their cocks, and Clint bit his lip, back arching as they finally managed to get the same rhythm.  Phil fingers gripped Clint’s hip tight enough to bruise, and another shiver rolled down Clint’s spine.

Above him, Phil was staring at him with a sense of wonder, love and trust and want shining in his eyes.  “Phil,” Clint gasped, his voice nearly a sob.  

He was so close.  Fire spread from his stomach, muscles tightening, and the twist of Phil’s hand tore a desperate whimper from Clint’s throat.  His hips snapped against Phil’s, the crackling, burning heat between them spiralling out of control.  Phil came nearly without a sound, gasping sharply as his whole body shuddered, his eyes locked on Clint’s.  The sight was beautiful and overwhelming, and Clint felt tears prickle his eyes as his own orgasm raced through him, punching the air from his lungs.  Groaning, Clint reached up to roughly squeeze Phil’s shoulder, his body bowing as his vision whited out.

Still panting, Phil slumped down and leaned his forehead against Clint’s shoulder.  Clint slid his hands up Phil’s sweat-slick back, pulling him closer, and just breathed.  Finally, Phil shifted off him slightly, one of Phil’s strong arms wrapping around Clint’s waist.  They were both still sweaty and streaked with come, but Clint really didn’t want to move.  

“Well,” Phil rasped, his voice rough and fucked out.  “That was…”  He trailed off, as if unable to put his feelings into words.  Clint could sympathize.

Turning his head, Clint found Phil giving him a lazy, satiated smile.  Laughter bubbled up from deep within his chest, and Phil’s face softened even more at the sound.  His eyes were bright and happy, and Clint couldn’t stop the impulse to lean forward and press their lips together.  Just because Phil looked so beautiful, and Clint could do that now.  “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Clint,” Phil replied softly.

~*~

_Two years later_

Phil smiled, swaying slightly to the slow jazz song that was just loud enough to drown out the conversations of the friends and family all around him.  The music was being played by an _actual jazz band_ , because when Tony Stark threw you a reception, he went all out.  It was possibly Stark’s weird form of revenge for not being invited to the Bonding Ceremony itself, or maybe Stark was just being generous.  Either way, Phil was dancing to good music, had a stomach full of good food, and had drunk far too much good champagne.  Pepper, who _had_ been invited to the ceremony, along with Nick, Natasha, and Jasper, had assured him this was just Stark’s idea of a wedding present.

It was a nice wedding present.

The reception was being held on the roof of Stark Tower, which had been decorated with fairy lights and flickering candles on the small, white-clothed tables.  Phil was dancing with Clint on the small dancefloor set up in the center of Stark’s remodeled rooftop garden, and everything was pretty much perfect.  Of course, _anywhere_ that Phil got to bond himself to Clint would have been perfect, but the beautiful surroundings and good food definitely helped.

“Mmm, I’m going to have to steal your ties more often,” Clint told him quietly as he nuzzled at Phil’s throat.

Phil sent his brand new husband a pointed look when Clint leaned back, because it wasn’t as if Clint didn’t run off with his ties _already_.  “Oh, really?” he replied, tugging Clint a little closer, one hand resting on the small of Clint’s back, the other holding his right wrist, thumb stroking softly over Clint’s naked mark.  Now that they’d _bonded_ , the mark was shot through with silver, and the colour looked so good against Clint’s skin.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed as he pulled back, a smirk curving his mouth, and his eyes dancing with mischief.  “Tieless is a _good_ look on you.”

Phil rolled his eyes, and then expertly spun them around, making Clint laugh loudly.  Phil’s own smile was remarkably sentimental, but it was his Bonding Day, so he didn’t care.  “Clint, you say the same thing about my jeans,” he teased.  The low hum of their fully completed bond sat deep in his chest, pulsing with contentment and love, and the slow burn of lust Phil would always feel towards Clint.  “And most times we’re naked.”

“What can I say?” Clint replied, shrugging slightly.  “You have a lot of good looks.”

Phil wasn’t the only one.  Clint looked _amazing_.  His tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his black shirt gaping open to reveal lightly tanned skin.  At his first opportunity, Clint had lost his jacket, rolling up his shirtsleeves to bare his muscled forearms.  His grey vest was still buttoned, the fabric clinging tightly to his broad chest.  Phil was a little surprised Clint was still wearing it, but he definitely appreciated it.  Phil had made no secret of his _appreciation_ of Clint in a suit, even only half of one, which probably explained Clint’s strategic stripping.  Clint was incredibly thoughtful and sweet with those he loved.  “So do you,” Phil murmured, before leaning forward to steal a kiss.

“Hey, Cheese, save that for the honeymoon,” Nick said loudly, breaking into the happy bubble around Phil and Clint.

Pulling back, Phil turned to Nick and arched his eyebrow.  “What honeymoon?” he replied dryly.  “We’re SHIELD agents.  We don’t get one.”

In deference to the bonding, Nick had worn one of his nicer black suits, his shoulders broad and imposing, and more importantly, relaxed.  In his arms, Natasha smiled serenely, her fingers tangled with Nick’s and her guard down in a way it very rarely was.  Her deep blue cocktail dress was simple, but she made it look stunning.  Natasha almost always looked beautiful, but it was the happy warmth radiating from her eyes that was the most beautiful thing to see.

Nick narrowed his eye.  “Ha ha, asshole,” he said flatly.

Phil grinned.  Nick had worked hard to ensure both Phil and Clint could take the next two weeks off.  It was his bonding present to them both - barring any universe-ending catastrophes, of course.  Phil had been tempted to just lock himself and Clint away in their apartment, but Nick had been the one to finally convince Phil to make a trip of it.  Although, as Phil’s oldest friend, Phil wasn’t above hanging shit on Nick anyway.

“How about you go and annoy Jasper now?” Phil said.  “I’m dancing with my husband.”

“And I’m dancing with my wife,” Nick shot back, “but you don’t see me incapable of holding a conversation.”

“Boys,” Natasha said dryly, before Phil and Nick could begin bickering in earnest.

Phil huffed.  Against the skin of his neck, he felt Clint’s smile.  Natasha arched a delicate eyebrow at Clint’s lack of sarcasm in response to Nick, before poking him in the shoulder.  

“Clint, are you drunk?” she asked.

“No,” Clint said, lifting his head with a smile.  “I’m just happy.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Phil couldn’t stop the way his grip momentarily tightened around Clint.  Clint had struggled so much in his life, and to hear him freely admit to being happy took Phil’s breath away.  Clint glanced at Phil, his lips quirking into a tiny smile.  His eyes were warm, and so vivid, reading every thought off Phil’s face.

“Ugh, I think that’s our cue to leave before things get any mushier,” Nick grumbled, but he was smiling.

“I don’t even know why you’re still here,” Phil told him without taking his eyes off Clint.

Chuckling, Nick clapped a hand on Phil’s shoulder.  “Congratulations,” he said quietly.  “I know I’ve said it before, but I’m happy for both of you.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Phil said, smiling at him.

The band transitioned into a song with far more swing as Nick whirled a smiling Natasha away, no doubt in an attempt to outdance Maria and Jasper, who were putting on a show to their left.  Phil followed them with his eyes and then glanced  back at Clint.  Before he could voice his question, Clint was tangling their fingers together, and tugging him away from the dancefloor.  “Is this the part where we sneak out of our own reception?” Phil asked.

Clint glanced over his shoulder and shrugged, a faintly sheepish smile on his face.  “No,” he said, his eyes flicking in the direction Phil had last seen Steve and Bruce.  “I just wanted to show you something.”

“Okay,” Phil replied, because there was nowhere Clint could lead that he wouldn’t follow.

The ‘something’ turned out to be a little hidden corner of the garden.  It, too, was strung with fairy lights, a comfortable lounger in the middle of it, strewn with plush purple pillows.  “Should I be worried about any nefarious motives you might have?” Phil asked, shooting Clint a teasing smile.

“We could always head back out onto the dancefloor, and try a tango?” Clint replied, and Phil wanted to kiss the mischievous smile right off his face.

“Thank you, but I’d rather not give Stark the satisfaction,” Phil told him. He let himself be pulled down onto the chair, Clint immediately curling around him.

For a while, they lay there and stared up at the faint light of the stars, the music and laughter washing over them.  Clint was a warm, solid line against Phil, his nimble fingers sliding between the buttons of Phil’s shirt to scratch lightly at Phil’s chest.  As moments went, Phil was pretty sure he never wanted this one to end.

“I bind my life to yours, to share our lives from this day forward, in good times and bad,” Clint whispered, echoing their bonding ceremony.  “And no matter what SHIELD throws at us.”

Phil smiled.  “I’m not sure I remember that last part in our vows,” he said.

Clint snorted.  “It’s true, though.”

Pulling Clint closer, Phil lifted Clint’s right wrist to press a kiss to his mark.  “Not just SHIELD, either,” he said softly.  “In good times and bad, no matter what the _universe_ might throw at us.”

Clint curled even closer, laying his head on Phil’s shoulder.  “Yeah,” he said, his breath brushing against the skin of Phil’s throat.  “I like that.”

Phil stroked a hand down Clint’s back, the memories of the Battle of New York still haunting them both.  “This is our fairy tale, Clint,” he said, smiling at his husband.  “I’d slay all the dragons in the world to get to keep it.”

Then he sealed it with a kiss.

**  
End.**

 


End file.
